


Ritual Bonding

by telleroftynesidetales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telleroftynesidetales/pseuds/telleroftynesidetales
Summary: Blaise arrives at Malfoy Manor for a dinner. After a few interesting interactions and uncomfortable questions, his skills are called into question. He has only one choice: prove his worth.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Ritual Bonding

Broad strokes of indigo painted the evening sky that overlooked Malfoy Manor. Northern winds blew, fluttering the estate’s cone-shaped bushes.

Standing at the wrought-iron gates, Blaise was dressed to perfection. He wore a completely black suede suit and a bowtie that featured diagonal, seafoam green stripes. His hairline and sideburns were lined with precision, compliments of Weeoanwhisker’s Barbershop. Coconut body oil kept him moisturized and glowing under the emerging starlight. 

“Relax,” he told himself, fingers quivering. “This’ll be like the Slug Club meetings. Nothing to worry about.”

A swishing sound reverberated and the gates swung open. Looking up from his shaking hands, Blaise saw that it was Draco who had unlocked the entrance. Seemingly disinterested in the imminent festivities, he wore a simple white polo with a popped collar and denim slacks. 

“It’s dinner, not the Yule Ball.”

“The invitation said there was a dress code, as I’m sure you heard when you were spying on me in the bathroom.” 

Draco spat a vanilla Every Flavor Bean just past Blaise’s shoe, turning to lead the way inside. Blaise angrily reached for the wand hidden within his jacket, but restrained himself. Bellatrix’s threat to attack his mother replayed in his head, her words sizzling like bacon in a pan. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and followed. 

“My father’s been redecorating, says it helps remind him of what’s to come,” informed Draco. “Times are changing. The rightful masters of the wizarding world are taking their place.”

Treading along the velvet carpet, Blaise observed the drastic switch in ambiance. Detailed drawings of Lord Voldemort now hung were the Malfoy family portraits once did, the red ink of his eyes bewitched to shine brighter than polished rubies. Lifelike basilisk molds slithered around the silver-plated frames. 

“I’ll be sure to tell your father that I like the new furnishings, even if they are rather… fanatical,” said Blaise.

Draco steered them down a wide hallway. “He won’t give a damn about your opinions. What’ll interest him is your skill in the Dark Arts. You’d better be ready to perform.”

They passed a luxury kitchen where Kough, the house-elf, checked ovens and stovetops. A glossy magical barrier prevented the smell of his cooking from permeating. Blaise, however, was sure that he saw the claws of a large shellfish.

Their excursion ended at a dining room adorned with white gold wallpaper. Matching curtains thinly veiled the casement windows. A metallic table, complete with polished cutlery and buttercream napkins folded to resemble four-leaf clovers, dominated the space. Draco’s parents and aunt sat in silk-cushioned chairs, conversing about the value of Albus Dumbledore’s belongings until they realized their guest had arrived. 

Clothed in a low-cut black lace gown, Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at Blaise and patted the empty seat to her right. She grinned deviously, apple chunks wedged in the crevices of her browned teeth. 

Wine glass in hand, Lucius rose to his full height of six feet. 

“Ah, here he is: young Blaise Zabini. Amycus brags that you’re something special. I would have never guessed you were so adept, so gifted,” he admitted. “And to think I figured you were timid the day you met Draco and I in Diagon Alley.”

Neither Lucius’ crisp mahogany tuxedo nor his voluminous, platinum blond hair could hide Azkaban’s impact on him. His cheeks looked too thin for his jawbone, and the beard he shaved was already growing back gray and coarse. Wrinkles blotched his eyelids and forehead. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I’m honored to have been invited into your home,” replied Blaise, trying not to stare at the prison identification numbers tattooed on him.

Draco scoffed and took his seat beside Narcissa, who was next to speak. 

“You’re becoming well-known in a few important circles. We’re very happy our son didn’t go making friends with the wrong sort,” she smiled, winking one of those crystal blue eyes.

Narcissa’s appearance was the exact opposite of her husband’s. Her milky skin was hydrated and devoid of blemishes. The lilac cocktail dress she wore fit perfectly, highlighting her flat stomach and toned shoulders. Her bone-straight blonde locks had not one split end, and were tied with an black satin ribbon. 

“Well, sit down and relax. Kough will be bringing out dinner any minute now,” said Lucius.

Blaise approached the chair nearest Draco, but Bellatrix clapped her hands at him the way an agitated owner would when trying to get the attention of a misbehaving pet. 

“You ungrateful, goddamned wanker,” she hissed. “I sent you the invitation and you don’t even consider sitting where I intended you to? Your ass better be at my right in three seconds, or I’ll beat some bloody respect into you.”

Blaise gulped and hurried to do as demanded. 

“No need for such harsh language, Bella. I’m sure he would prefer to sit next to his friend,” intervened Narcissa.

Bellatrix clamped her cold, clammy hand onto the back of Blaise’s neck. “Nonsense, Cissy. He wants to have little caramel babies with me. Isn’t that true, boy?”

Blaise nodded obediently.

An awkward silence muted the room. Lucius exchanged confused looks with Narcissa and Draco before clearing his throat.

Kough wheeled in a trolley that held five platters and a bottle of Chardonnay. He served them one by one, removing the steamy tops and not making eye contact. The meal was a Maine lobster, grilled steak, and cheese-drizzled broccoli. After filling their glasses, the house-elf wheezed and took his leave.

“So, what particular spell is your favorite,” asked Lucius, cutting a piece of that succulent beef. 

“Sectumsempra, sir,” Blaise answered. 

Draco winced, balling his fists. Narcissa patted him on the back, and promised that he would never know such pain again. 

“That curse nearly cost my son his life,” Lucius growled. “Do you believe you could use it on Potter? I’d pay a fortune for him to suffer as much as possible before the Dark Lord ends his farce of a legend.”

“I would bet my soul that this boy wouldn’t hurt anyone,” argued Bellatrix, cracking open Blaise’s lobster and force-feeding him the tail. 

Lucius sipped from his glass. “I disagree, and I’ll tell you why: I’m familiar with his mother. Bethany was a year below me at Hogwarts but well-known for her beauty. I’m told she’s had seven husbands, all of whom met an untimely demise. That sort of ruthlessness is often hereditary.”

“Shall we test your theory,” Bellatrix proposed.

Narcissa dropped her fork and knife, both dinging loudly onto her plate. “Absolutely not. He’s a child. It is unnecessary for him to prove anything.”

“Has your memory escaped you, sister? Age means nothing; Draco was chosen to prove his worth,” reminded Bellatrix. “Now my itty, bity baby beau will do the same, in a duel against me.”

Blaise choked on the meat upon hearing her plan. Draco stopped picking at his broccoli, genuine concern clouding his grey eyes. Narcissa looked to Lucius, her glare ripe with disapproval. He, however, did not share his wife’s sentiment.

“If this young man truly is as ingenious as Amycus claims, the Dark Lord will gain another soldier to ensure his victory. I am sorry, my love, but this will happen tonight.”  


_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The relocation was done through a blurred jumble of sharp turns and descending stairwells. In the mental haze of his anxiety, Blaise could not tell if Draco’s occasional stare pleaded with him to run or to stay and fight. He saw flashes of Pansy Parkinson, her warnings repeating at various vocal pitches. The visions faded and were replaced with Professor Carrow, who simply laughed and chanted unfamiliar incantations. Blaise blinked and the five of them were in a basement that was totally empty, save for a grandfather clock. The floor was cement and the walls were layered in thick cobwebs.

Bellatrix pinned up her curly mane and stood across from Blaise, while the Malfoys surrounded the clock. 

“This used to be a space for Draco’s old toys but I won’t bore you with my reminiscing,” Lucius explained. “All you need to know is that this is a proving ground for the uninitiated. Your goal is to last a full minute without being hit. For your sake, I pray you are every bit as good as I’ve been told.”

Disgusted, Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest. Draco fidgeted with his hands but remained quiet. 

Lucius tickled the clock’s pendulum, causing it to transform into a timer. “Wands at the ready.”

It appeared as though both combatants would observe the pre-duel customs as they raised their wands, but Bellatrix refused to bow. Instead, she flicked her arm like a whip and hollered, “Avada Kedavra.”

Blaise quarter-turned, the green bolt barely missing his shoulder. It splintered the wall behind him, producing a blare comparable to thunder. Bellatrix cackled, her long tongue rolling out to rest on her chin. 

Heart thumping, Blaise retaliated with a Stupefy but Bellatrix effortlessly deflected the charm. 

“You’ve got to do better than that, boy,” she taunted, shooting a slanted ray of orange light.

Ducking, Blaise returned fire. Bellatrix sidestepped the blast and vanished. A trio of purple arrows flew at Blaise’s face but he fell onto his stomach to avoid them. The projectiles circled in the air and then dived for his pelvic region, forcing him to roll backwards.

Lucius watched the timer. “Five, four, three, two, one…”

Bellatrix reappeared in a puff of smoke behind Blaise, her wand aimed at his calve.

“Crucio,” she screamed.

A brilliant red beam exploded from the tip of Bellatrix’s wand, striking Blaise at point-blank range. His entire leg cramped and then felt as though it was being devoured by rabid wolves. He screeched, writhing in agony. Narcissa placed her hands over Draco’s ears.

“There’s still much work to be done, but you are worthy of a conversation with the Dark Lord,” declared Lucius.

Perspiration soaked Blaise’s face. An intense burning sensation in his knee foiled each attempt he made to stand. Having seen enough, Draco extended a hand to his fallen friend. 

“Leave him. I have so many other ideas in mind. You wouldn’t want to get in the way of those, dear,” Bellatrix announced, pointing her wand at Draco.

Lucius and Narcissa instinctively slipped in front of their son.

“Cute, but uncalled for. I wouldn’t dare hurt my own flesh and blood,” Bellatrix lied, bending to lick sweat off Blaise’s nose. “But this one is mine to do with as I please.”

“Never raise your arm to my son again, Bella. I would hate to have to raise mine to you,” threatened Narcissa.

After a second glance down at Blaise, the Malfoys scaled the stairwell. Draco peeked over his shoulder for one final look and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll tell you a secret, little boy: the first two times we dueled, my husband couldn’t avoid my attacks,” Bellatrix cooed, poking Blaise’s full lips with her wand. “I wonder what else you can do that he can’t. Won’t you show me?”


End file.
